Time to get down to the date that led me to the world of blogging. For those of you who know me, you already know the story I’m about to tell. For everyone else, the story is a little long but well worth the read, so….here you go.
It’s about 3 months after my divorce, my kids are with their dad for the weekend and my best friend Wendy and I decide to go for a girl’s night out. I show up in my brand new t-shirt (courtesy of Wendy from her recent trip to Bike Week) that says “Wanted: Meaningless Overnight Relationship.” She immediately tells me that I am crazy for wearing the shirt, that I’m just looking for trouble and to go walk around the bar so everyone can see me wearing the shirt.
Immediately this man walks over, bums a cigarette from Wendy and asks “What are you two ladies doing here alone?” Wendy declares “married” and I just sit there looking stupid. “Philippe” asks to join us and orders a pitcher of beer, for himself. Philippe proceeds to brag to us about his cars, his houses, his money and his rough and tumble days in the Brazilian army. Wendy, not afraid to let him know that she thinks he’s full of shit, throws every stereotype in the book at him and the two of them go back and forth verbally for awhile. In the meantime, Philippe starts getting “friendly” under the table and thinks that Wendy doesn’t notice. She of course, does, but I’m getting drunk, I’m grinning like a dog and frankly, don’t care.
Little while later Wendy gets up to use the restroom and Philippe starts to kiss me. Right there at the table.
Little while after that Philippe gets up to use the restroom, Wendy tells me that I shouldn’t think for one minute that she doesn’t realize what’s going on and whatever I do, DON’T BRING HIM HOME. I, of course, agree. She’s my Jiminy Cricket, my conscience, that little voice of reason in the back of my head, which I moronically, for the most times, ignore. She then tells me she’s going home and leaves. I look at Philippe and say “ready to go?” He hums and haws and makes some lame excuse about how ALL his cars are in the shop so I tell him I’ll drive.
We get to my car. He gets in. I no sooner put the car in drive before he has his pants around his ankles and is goin to town, on himself. OMG. He asks me “do you like the way it looks? I shave.” What? I let him know that I’m sure it’s lovely, but I’m driving.
We get to my house, clothes are flying off down the hallway, we get to the bedroom and get completely undressed where he then says………… “Oh.” Not like oh baby, but like oh what the hell? “Oh?” I repeat. He then says to me “you’re not a…….” “I’m not a what?” “You’re not a man?” WTF? Seriously. No, I’m not a fucking man. I FINALLY get a man to follow me home and he thinks I’M the man. Funny enough, I have a problem with this and I guess he senses this because he then says to me “Don’t worry, we can still do this.” Ummmmmmm, NO, we can’t. I tell him to get dressed so I can take him back to the bar.
Meanwhile, during this whole episode his cell phone has been ringing off the hook. I ask him if he needs to get it. He says “you don’t mind? Are you going to say anything?” No. Why would I mind? And what am I going to say, I don’t know the person on the other line. So he picks up. “Hi baby. OMG, I’m soooooo sorry. My car broke down and me and my friends are in the parking lot trying to fix it. I’ll be home as soon as I can.” All the stereotypes that Wendy was throwing at him like darts at a target start to flood back into my mind.
I thankfully, get him back to the bar, where he gets out of my car and asks me if he can have my number. HELL NO. He then asks me how he will ever find me again and I tell him if I have any luck, he never will.
Thankfully, I never have seen him again. Not that I would actually recognize him if I did.
